


Looks Like We Made It

by Lopithecus



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 14:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12170820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lopithecus/pseuds/Lopithecus
Summary: Bruce has a hard night and when he gets back from patrol to see Clark not there, he goes searching for the wayward Kryptonian. Clark is found in the unlikeliest of places, thinking about unexpected things.





	Looks Like We Made It

**Author's Note:**

> Just as a reference, this would be before Kara was around.
> 
> I’m actually very proud of this one. :)

Every time a gunshot goes off, the death of Bruce’s parents flash before his eyes. The way his father’s blood spewed out of the wound at such a close range and how loud his mother was when she screamed. It echoes in his ears along with the bang of the gun that is currently being aimed at Batman.

The bullet misses Bruce by an inch and Batman turns, kicking the man in the stomach who shot the weapon. The guy stumbles back, gun dropping to the ground, and body crumpling in on itself. The thug groans, passing out, and Bruce twists to take out the next guy who thinks getting the drop on Batman is something that is easy, something that can be done.

When Bruce smells the gunpowder from a recently discharged weapon, he can smell his mother’s blood as her neck is torn into by the bullet. He can hear the pearls that she treasured so much pinging on the ground, hear her gurgles as she struggles for breath. He doesn’t hear his own scream, the sound his knees make as they crash down to blood soaked pavement, and the sound of the killer’s shoes as the man runs away.

Bruce takes out the second guy who shot a gun at him, bullet missing mere centimeters this time. It’s too close, much too close. At this range, it would go through the Bat suit, into his body. The gunman drops to the ground and Bruce whirls to the third guy, his gun clicking with an empty magazine.

When Bruce sets his eyes on a gun, he sees the blood pooling around his parents’ body, hears the way his father stutters out his mother’s name with one last breath. He feels the warm blood on his hands, the hot tears rolling down his cheeks. He still doesn’t hear his sobs, the sirens in the background, and Detective Gordon asking him if he is okay. He sees his parents’ lifeless eyes over and over and over and over…

Bruce’s fist connects with the thug’s jaw, the man collapsing to the ground, knocked out. He straightens, looks around, smells the gunpowder in the air, and wipes the back of a dirty hand across his mouth. He zip ties the men, puts them somewhere the GCPD will easily retrieve them, and then makes his escape. He doesn’t look back and ignores the sound of gunshots ringing in his ears.

Taking a deep, tired breath, Bruce calls it a night. He heads back to the Manor, climbs out of the Batmobile achingly, and peels off the Bat suit one piece at a time. The smell of gunpowder is still in his nose and there’s blood on his gloves. Bruce closes his eyes, takes another steadying breath as his parents’ bodies flash in his memory, and rips the gloves off. He goes to the shower, punching the water on, and turns it to as hot as he can take it without scalding his skin.

The water feels good on his aching muscles, the steam clears out his sinuses, and the loud pitter patter of the water drowns out every other noise. Bruce sighs with contentment and stays in the shower for longer than is probably necessary, enjoying the warmth and solitude. He then gets out to get dressed in a pair of sweatpants.

When he exits into the cave again, Alfred is there with a protein drink which Bruce gladly takes. “You really do need to keep yourself better hydrated while out there, Master Bruce.”

“Duly noted, Alfred.” Bruce chugs down the protein drink and then takes the offered water, downing that as well. Bruce looks around the dark cave, listening as the Bats begin to settle for the morning. “Where’s Clark? He said he’d meet me here after patrol.”

“I think something came up, Sir. He had called earlier saying how he had to go to the Fortress of Solitude.” Bruce frowns at Alfred. Every time he looks at Alfred, he thinks about his parents, about how much he misses them, and how Alfred wouldn’t have had to raise him alone if it weren’t for their deaths. “He sounded… off, Sir, if I am being quite honest with you.”

Bruce loves Alfred, is forever grateful for the man stepping in and taking care of him after his parents were murdered. But it doesn’t change the fact that his mother and father were killed, that they weren’t there, that they had left Bruce alone at such a young age. Bruce sighs. “I’ll call him.” Alfred nods and leaves, most likely off to go to bed. It’s nearly four in the morning and Alfred’s age hasn’t slipped by Bruce. He worries about the inevitable moment that Alfred will leave him too.

Walking to the computer, he dials the Fortress. There’s no answer and Bruce frowns more. With another tired sigh, he gets back dressed into one of his spare Batman outfits and fires up the Bat plane, calling Alfred briefly to let the butler know he is going to the Fortress. Flying to the snowy tundra is peaceful, the low hum of the Bat plane sounding all around him. It relaxes him, makes him feel more at home.

When at the Fortress, Bruce lands the plane and uses his key to get into the crystal structure when Clark doesn’t come to greet him. He checks the monitor bay first and then Clark’s bedroom. Both places are empty and Bruce is beginning to wish his spare outfit was better insulated from the cold. It seeps into Bruce’s bones, reminding him of how freezing he had felt as he knelt in that alley by his parents’ lifeless bodies. He shakes the memory off and continues his search.

In the end, he finds Clark standing by Jor-El and Lara’s statues, staring up at them. Bruce approaches the Kryptonian and places a gentle hand on Clark’s shoulder. Clark jumps, evidence of how lost in thought he had been. Bruce squeezes the shoulder his hand is grabbing reassuringly.

“Hey,” he greets, standing next to Clark.

Clark smiles at him weakly. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

“You said you would meet me after patrol,” Bruce states, letting go of Clark’s shoulder. “Something about us not spending a lot of time together lately.”

“We haven’t been,” Clark counters.

“We’ve both been busy,” Bruce says, cutting the subject off there. Clark sighs and goes back to looking at Jor-El and Lara. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

Clark scoffs, rolling his eyes. “If it was, I wouldn’t have been willing to see you earlier.”

“Hmm, but I had thought we would have just gone straight to bed.”

Clark is watching him now, eyes scrutinizing him intently. Bruce avoids eye contact, looks at the statues, anywhere but Clark. “Is everything alright?”

“I should be asking you that,” Bruce responds but when Clark frowns at him, he sighs heavily, sitting down with a small groan. “It’s been a long night.”

Clark lowers to the ground as well, drawing strong legs against that broad chest. The Kryptonian rests his chin atop his knees, now frowning at the statues. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“Not really,” is Bruce’s automatic response because Clark has heard it before. How Bruce can never run away from the memories, the nightmares, of his parents’ death. Clark doesn’t need to hear it again for the hundredth time or maybe Bruce just doesn’t want to rehash it again because, if Bruce is honest with himself, he knows Clark has no problem with listening to it once more. “Now onto you. Are you okay?”

Clark sighs heavier than Bruce had expected, arms tightening around his legs. “Like you said, it’s been a long night… day… both.” Clark is looking at Lara, eyes cast up. Bruce wonders if the Kryptonian is using that extraordinary sight to look at Lara’s face up close. When Bruce is about to speak, Clark begins talking, unknowingly cutting him off. “Did I ever tell you that I was two when Lara and Jor-El sent me here?”

Bruce watches the side of Clark’s face carefully, shaking his head. “No. I always assumed you were a baby.”

Clark purses his lips and shakes his head as well. “No, not according to the Jor-El AI.” The frown is back on that magnificent face and Bruce must restrain himself from commenting about frown lines. “I spent two years of my life with them, Bruce, and I don’t have a single memory of it.” A bitter smile. “Is it weird that I sometimes wish I did even though I wasn’t there long to begin with?”

Bruce thinks about his own parents, about how he can’t remember how his father sounded or which songs his mother used to sing to him. He thinks about the family vacation Alfred always speaks about as if Bruce is supposed to remember it but for the life of him, he can’t. He thinks about how much it hurts that he can’t remember some things about his parents. “No,” he finally says. “I don’t think so.” Bruce looks down at his hands. “I… can’t remember everything about my parents and that…” He doesn’t finish, can’t finish. His throat closes up.

“Sorry,” Clark’s soft voice says and when Bruce looks at the man, he is glancing at Bruce sideways. “I suppose yours is worse, since you were eight when…” The Kryptonian trials off, Clark looking away again and to the floor, mumbling, “Sorry,” once more.

Bruce shrugs. “It’s not a competition. I just… _do_ have some memories of them while you… don’t.” Clark says nothing to this, eyes still downcast, distant, and Bruce wants to touch him but Bruce isn’t sure if it will be welcomed right now.

When Clark starts speaking again, it’s quiet and Bruce must strain to hear it. “I keep thinking about how hard it must have been for them to send me away.” Another bitter smile. “It’s probably stupid but I keep coming up with these different scenarios of what Jor-El and Lara did during it. Lara would have been holding me in her arms, so tight that I could barely breathe. She’d be crying. Jor-El wouldn’t cry, not yet, because he would want to be strong for his wife and to not scare me. I was already distressed from Lara crying and despite her efforts, she couldn’t calm me. I didn’t understand what was going on, I was too young. They would place me in the space pod and Lara would brush my hair out of my eyes. She would lean down, kiss my forehead, and tell me how much she loved me. Then Jor-El would kiss me, same place Lara did, and tell me that he loved me too, that I would be okay. I would still be crying and Lara would wipe my tears away, tell me I’ll always be loved. Then the space pod would close, Jor-El punching in the coordinates to Earth. He would finally cry and Lara would hold him close as they watched me leave them, their hearts breaking. Then Krypton would explode and they would die.” Clark pulls his knees in closer. “I can’t even imagine how much pain they must have felt at the time, how much heartache they were feeling.”

Bruce swallows. “Clark, what brought this on?”

Clark sighs, shoulders slumping. “A mother and child were in danger a few days ago. I didn’t get there in time and so the mother sacrificed herself to save her child.”

Bruce’s lips thin, understanding. Failure always brings up bad memories, irrational thoughts, no matter which superhero you are. “You can’t save everyone, Clark.”

“I know. It’s not about that.” Clark briefly buries his face in his arms, as if trying to hide himself. When he finally looks up, his eyes are glossy. The Kryptonian still doesn’t look at him. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

Looking back at the statues, Bruce says, “I think we’ve already passed weird.” Clark frowns at him more and Bruce rolls his eyes. “Of course, you can.”

“Do you…” Clark pauses, voice lowering to a whisper. “Do you sometimes wish you had died with your parents in that alley?”

Bruce furrows his brows but thinks about it nonetheless. He thinks about earlier this morning when he had fought those three thugs with guns. He thought about how he had thought about his father and mother the whole time, about how much it pains him that they aren’t here anymore. Bruce thinks about the conversation he and Clark are currently having, and really, the answer seems quite simple when he lumps it all together.

“All the time,” he whispers. There’s no reaction from Clark, as if the Kryptonian had expected that to be his answer. “Why?”

Clark is still looking at the floor, eyes still unfocused. “Because sometimes I wish Jor-El and Lara hadn’t sent me to Earth, that I had died on Krypton with them.” The statement is unexpected and Bruce tries to not react to it but he feels himself frowning anyway. He doesn’t know what to say but thankfully Clark starts talking again, saving Bruce from having to. “I’m the only Kryptonian, Bruce, the last of my kind. I don’t belong with humans and I don’t have a planet of people I belong to anymore either. Sometimes… sometimes I just feel so alone.” The Kryptonian buries his face in his arms again, murmuring almost unintelligibly, “I don’t think people understand just how lonely it can be.” Clark’s shoulders tighten, drawing into themselves as the Kryptonian tries to make himself as small as possible. “I love Ma and Pa and I will forever be grateful to them for taking me in, raising me. I wouldn’t replace them for the world but sometimes I can’t help but wish I had been raised on Krypton, to know what it was like there, to know what Jor-El and Lara were like. To have died with them. The Jor-El AI is emotionless and I don’t even have one of Lara. I wish…”

When Clark trails off, Bruce speaks, filling in the blank. “You weren’t so alone.”

Clark nods, lifting his head. “Why do I feel like this, Bruce, when I have my parents, when I have friends, when I have _you_? I shouldn’t _feel_ like this.”

“I don’t think it’s a matter of having friends and family and lovers, Clark,” Bruce says. Clark finally looks at him and when the Kryptonian blinks, tears roll down his cheeks. “It’s about being the only Kryptonian left. It’s about being an outsider. You’re a refugee, Clark, the sole survivor of a dead planet. No one will blame you for feeling alone when you’re one Kryptonian among billions of humans.”

Clark sighs, burying half his face in his arms. “I grew up here, Bruce, I don’t feel like I have the right. I fear people won’t think I’m grateful or that I don’t care about humans.”

“You can care about both, Clark; humans and Kryptonians. You can care about your parents and Jor-El and Lara. It’s not an impossibility,” Bruce explains. “Think of it this way. I love both my parents and Alfred. I’m thankful to Alfred for raising me and taking care of me but that doesn’t stop me from wishing my parents were the ones to have raised me. It doesn’t stop me from wondering what it would have been like. You’re allowed to wonder, Clark. You’re allowed to wish you had grown up on your _birth_ planet with your _birth_ parents.” Clark is crying silently now, tears streaming down his cheeks. “It doesn’t mean you love Martha and Jonathan any less or that you don’t care about us humans.” Again, Bruce thinks about his parents, about the pain and loneliness he had felt and still feels after their deaths. “And if it helps, I sometimes feel very alone too.” Clark sniffles and wipes at his cheeks. “It probably has something to do with survivor’s guilt.” As Bruce watches Clark wipe at those sad eyes, he frowns. “Clark, what brought this all on? It couldn’t have just been about a mother and child.”

Clark tilts his head back and stares at the statues. “Last night, Doctor Neil Tyson asked me over to the lab.” The Kryptonian’s voice sounds small, vulnerable. “I got to watch Krypton explode. It had taken the planet’s light of when it exploded many, many years to get here by Doctor Tyson knew last night was it. It would be the last time I would be able to see Krypton.” Clark shrugs, burying half his face again. “Now it’s gone. Krypton is now gone for good.”

Bruce has a picture of his parents in his wallet. He looks at the photo every time he opens his wallet, a constant reminder of what his parents had looked like, that they aren’t here anymore, that they are dead. But he would take that over having nothing at all. “You probably shouldn’t have watched that.”

Clark scoffs. “Probably not.” And then, quieter once more. “Do you think it hurt?”

“Did what hurt?” Bruce asks.

“Krypton exploding. Do you think it hurt when it happened?” Clark’s eyes water again and blinking dislodges the tears. “Do you think Jor-El and Lara were in pain when it happened?”

The sound of Bruce’s mother’s name coming from his father in struggled breaths sound in his ears, his mother’s gurgling echoing along with it. Bruce swallows, blocks out the intrusive sounds, and says, “No, I don’t think it did.”

Clark’s bottom lip quivers. “I hope not.” The Kryptonian wipes at his eyes and looks at Bruce. More tears fall. “I don’t want them to have felt that, Bruce. I don’t-” Clark sobs and a hand goes to his lips as if he didn’t mean to let that out.

The bang of a gun, pearls pinging on the ground, no more breathing.

Bruce lifts a hand and cups one of Clark’s cheeks, wipes the tears away there. “It was too fast, Clark. It was too fast for them to feel anything.” Clark nods hopefully and Bruce pulls him close, Clark burying his face into Bruce’s shoulder.

His mother’s name on his father’s lips, the gasps for breath, the sobs, the sirens, the lifeless eyes.

Bruce pulls on Clark’s bicep, ushering the man up. “Come on. I think rest is in order.”

Clark nods against him, lifting and looking Bruce in the eyes, tired bags under alien blue. “Yeah, that sounds good.” They hold hands as they walk to Clark’s room and they strip off the Bat suit and Superman suit.

The empty feeling as he kneeled there next to his parents, the cold of the night making it through his jacket, Jim Gordon’s hands on his shoulders, the sound of the gun, the loud bang, the blood, so much _blood._

They both climb into bed and curl up next to each other, holding each other close. Clark clutches onto him as if the Kryptonian’s life depends on it and Bruce grips Clark as if he could forget the world and erase the images flashing behind his eyelids.

Whether they like it or not, they are both here, they both survived, and it’s just something they are going to have to live with.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
